The Lions of the North d-4

by Edward Marston

  “No!”

  “Then what am I doing here?”

  He bit back a reply. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. No woman had ever chastised him so openly and it had caught him on the raw. At the same time, he came to see that he had given Golde just cause for her anger. He had been moody and preoccupied all morning. She had received little courtesy and even less consideration.

  “You are right to chide me, my love,” he said.

  “I hate myself for having to do it.”

  “Blunt speech is what I deserved.”

  “It made me sound like a fishwife.”

  “I was too distracted by self-affairs,” he admitted. “I can only beg your forgiveness.”

  “It is yours,” she said, touching his arm.

  “The events of last night are partly to blame. They left me tired and seething with frustration.”

  She stifled a grin. “I noticed.”

  “We searched in vain for hours for those foul villains who stole our horses. I do not like to fail, Golde. It was very painful to have to call off the search.”

  “You came back safely, that is the important thing.”

  “It is not,” he argued. “Finding those outlaws was far more important. Yet we could not. That grieves me. I lost five horses and all our provisions.”

  “What about me?”

  “You?”

  “Yes, Ralph,” she said. “You are thinking only of yourself again. All you lost in those packs were some supplies but my apparel was also carried by the sumpter-horses. Those men made off with my entire wardrobe.”

  “Dear God! So they did.”

  “What will they think of me in York if all I wear are these mean travelling clothes?”

  “The loss will be repaired at once!” decided Ralph. “The city will have tailors enough to dance to your whims. Order what you wish. My purse is at your command.” A new zest had come into his voice. “Why do we amble when we should make speed? Onwards!”

  Grabbing the reins of her palfrey, he kicked his horse into a brisk trot and pulled her along behind him. The whole company closed in on York in time to hear the minster bell boom out for Nones.

  Micklegate was the only point of entry from the south-east. Once inside the city walls, Ralph led the bulk of the party off towards the castle on the left, leaving Canon Hubert and Brother Simon to continue alone towards the bridge over the River Ouse. The two men were relieved to be free of their escort; Hubert because he bore letters to the archbishop of York and was thus assured of an audience with him, and Simon because the minster precinct would offer him an escape from the proximity of a lascivious woman, the rough-tongued jocularity of the soldiers and the foul-smelling sea of humanity that now washed around his ankles.

  The others, meanwhile, were being greeted by the castellan. As they clattered into the courtyard, Aubrey Maminot, dressed in his finery and radiating delight, was waiting to embrace his old friend the moment he dismounted.

  “Ralph!” he said warmly. “Welcome to my home!”

  “It is good to see you again, Aubrey.”

  “We have been apart far too long, my friend. What is it? Seven, eight years?”

  “Ten at least!”

  “We’ll drink away each one of them!” He looked up hospitably at the rest of the party. “Welcome, one and all! Treat my castle as your own.

  You shall lack nothing while you are here.”

  He signalled to some waiting men-at-arms and they led the escort off to their quarters on the other side of the bailey. Aubrey was introduced to Gervase Bret and Tanchelm of Ghent and he clasped each in turn, but his most cordial salutation was reserved for Golde. He helped her down from her horse, kissed her hand, pressed her to call on him for anything that she needed, offered to give her a personal tour of the city, then kissed her hand again before turning to Ralph with a sly wink.

  “I am so glad that you came to York!” he said.

  “We are glad to be here,” said Ralph.

  “I have a thousand things to tell you but they can wait until a more fit time. You are weary from travel on a dusty road. Take your ease and have refreshment. Tonight, you will banquet in the hall and wipe away all memory of the tiresome journey from Winchester.” He spread his arms wide. “We will set such a feast before you that you will not need to eat for a week. Dress in your brightest array and surrender to my hospitality.”

  Golde exchanged a meaningful look with Ralph.

  “We are most grateful for your kindness, Aubrey,” he said, “and we will be delighted to sit at your table. But some of us may not be as gaily attired as we might wish. Outlaws fell on us in the night and stole the sumpter-horses and their packs. Much of our apparel vanished.”

  Aubrey was shocked. “Outlaws! Where?”

  “We were staying at the manor house in Howden.”

  “And they dared to attack you there?”

  “There was no assault on us, my lord,” said Tanchelm, keen to establish the facts. “The two men guarding the stables were overwhelmed by numbers, and our animals were taken. It all happened so quickly that we had no chance to stop them.”

  “Did you pursue them?” asked Aubrey.

  “Diligently,” said Ralph. “But we lost them in the darkness. I had not thought to shed any more blood on Yorkshire soil but I would have done so last night had I caught the rogues. I would dearly love to know what brazen rascals had the effrontery to steal my sumpter-horses from beneath my nose.”

  “Then I will tell you, old friend.”

  “You know?”

  “I can hazard a guess. From what you say, the crime was well-planned and swiftly executed.”

  “Indeed it was.”

  “Then we are talking about audacious thieves who were undeterred by your armed escort and who knew that part of the county so well that they could find their way around it in the pitch dark.”

  “They spared our guards,” reminded Tanchelm.

  “That makes it certain.”

  “I will not spare them when I catch them,” vowed Ralph. “And I mean to track them down, no matter how long it takes me. Will you help me, Aubrey?”

  “In every way I can. But it will not be easy.”

  “Why not?”

  “The man you seek is a notorious devil. He and his band have evaded me a dozen times or more. Chase them and they will outrun you.

  Confront them and they will outwit you. Ambush them and they will vanish into the earth like drops of rain.” He gave a bleak smile. “You have come up against a cunning adversary this time, Ralph.”

  “Tell me his name that I may call him to account.”

  “It is one that I have cause to rue myself.”

  “Who is the villain?”

  “Olaf Evil Child.”

  There was enough food to last them for days and they fell on it with relish. The cargo had been packed by experienced travellers, men who knew how to provision a long journey and who took account of such contingencies as an unexpected night, camping under the stars, or the arrival at a lodging whose kitchens could not cope with the several appetites that descended on them. Bread, cheese and fruit were in abundance. Salted meat, salted fish and cold roasted chicken were also discovered in the hoard.

  One man cackled with delight as he found a flagon of wine and he uncorked it at once to take a first guzzling swig, only to spew much of it out again as he learned that French wine was too weak a taste for someone reared on strong English ale. Another of the outlaws located a cache of honey cakes and chomped happily on them. It was a good haul and worth all the risks they had taken.

  There were a dozen or more of them, a cheerful crew in rough garb with spears, swords, daggers and other weapons on the grass beside them. They sought the cover of woodland to assuage their hunger and to examine their other spoils. Lookouts had been posted but each man was his own best sentry, eyes constantly scanning the trees and ears pricked to catch the first sound of danger.

  Olaf Evil Child sat cross-leg
ged in the middle of them as he searched through the last of the packs. He was a slim, wiry man in his thirties with beard and hair of a reddish tinge. His face had a rugged charm that belied his name and there was a benign twinkle in his eye. Seated beside him was an hirsute giant whose features were all but hidden behind a dark, bushy beard. He popped a whole apple into his cavern-ous mouth, chewed noisily and spat out the pips.

  “Have you found them?” he asked.

  “No,” said Olaf. “There’s nothing but apparel here. They were probably in those satchels we saw them carrying. It was too much to ask that they’d leave them in the stables as well.” He put the pack aside.

  “The horses are the real treasure from last night, Eric.”

  “And the food,” said his companion, stuffing another apple into his mouth. “Normans eat well.”

  “So will we for a while.”

  “And then what?”

  A wistful expression came into Olaf’s face. Hauling himself to his feet, he gave Eric a pat on the shoulder before crossing to speak to another of his followers. His orders were brief and explicit. The young man to whom he was speaking nodded as he listened. Olaf Evil Child talked in a quiet voice that yet carried great authority. None of them would ever dare to disobey him. Given his instructions, the young man went straight to his horse, leapt into the saddle and rode off in the direction of York.

  A burst of laughter drew Olaf’s attention back to Eric. The giant had rummaged through the clothing in the pack to pull out a woman’s gown. Holding it up against himself, he lowered his eyelids, struck what he thought was a feminine posture and treated them to a winsome smile. His fellows roared their approval and shouted their advice.

  “Put it on, Eric!”

  “Over your head!”

  “It will hide your ugly face!”

  “You could pass for a woman in that gown.”

  “A bearded woman!”

  Eric responded to the guffaws with a gap-toothed grin.

  “You may laugh,” he said, “but this will buy me a night of pleasure.

  I know a woman who will be so glad to have this that she will let me lie with her.”

  The boast produced a fresh crop of jeers but they were cut short by Olaf. Crossing to his friend, he took the gown from his hands and folded it neatly.

  “Find another way to rub thighs with a woman,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Eric, bemused.

  “Because this gown would only betray us. Give this to some peasant girl and she will be the envy of her friends. They are bound to ask where such a fine garment came from. Word will reach York and they will come looking for her. What woman will not break under torture?”

  Eric scratched his head. “I never thought of that.”

  “Pick her some flowers instead.”

  “The gown would be a finer present.”

  “Only if you want to get her locked in a dungeon.”

  “You are right,” said the other, slowly working it out. “It would be foolhardy. I see that now.”

  “Think with your brain instead of with your pizzle.”

  “Yes, Olaf.”

  Eric gave a sheepish smile as the others ridiculed him. Having folded the gown, Olaf put it carefully back with the rest of the wardrobe. He knew what he would do with it.

  Aubrey Maminot was determined to erase the bad memories of the long journey made by his guests. The banquet that he set before them that evening, and the entertainment with which it was garnished, were both so lavish that they drove all other thoughts from the mind. Ralph Delchard, Gervase Bret, Tanchelm of Ghent and Golde were treated like visiting dignitaries and they succumbed willingly to the situation.

  Brother Simon was too terrified to accept his invitation to the feast, and Canon Hubert, weighing the interests of his stomach against the care of his soul, opted for the latter and sampled more moderate fare with the archdeacon at the minster.

  The hall had been swept, strewn with fresh rushes, hung with aromatic herbs and lighted with a veritable host of candles. When Ralph first led Golde into the glittering magnificence of the room, they were astounded. He had now exchanged his hauberk for a tunic, mantle and cap while she was wearing a chemise, gown and wimple borrowed from Aubrey’s wife and altered to fit her by a seamstress. Knowing how primitive some castle interiors could be, Ralph was duly impressed by the lengths to which his friend had gone to make the hall both attractive and comfortable.

  Golde’s nostrils twitched slightly.

  “What’s that strange odour?” she whispered.

  “Herbs.”

  “There’s something else. More acrid.”

  Ralph sniffed. “I can’t smell it.”

  Before she could pursue the matter, Aubrey fell on them and introduced them to the other guests before clapping his hands for the musicians. Harp, lute and vielle combined in a pleasing melody that flew around the room like a flock of small birds. Bodin the Steward emerged from the shadows to conduct everyone to a seat at the long table. Twenty of them in all took their places for a sumptuous repast, presided over by Aubrey and his wife, Herleve.

  Inches taller than her husband, she was an elegant woman with a fading beauty that was held in check by the subtle use of cosmetics. A polite smile was painted on her lips and her manner was effortlessly gracious but Ralph sensed a coldness in her that he did not like.

  Golde, anxious to thank her hostess for the loan of the apparel, made a number of attempts to engage Herleve in conversation but the latter could not be drawn. There was one moment, as Golde plucked gently at the woman’s sleeve, when the mask of hospitality slipped slightly and Herleve shot her a look of mute disapproval.

  Served with style, the food was rich and delicious. Bodin made sure that each course followed the other smoothly without delay.

  He also supervised the entertainment so that there was always something fresh to watch or to hear. Minstrels sang, dancers disported themselves, jugglers displayed their skills, tumblers whirled through the air and a conjurer performed tricks that baffled his spectators.

  The most sensational performers were reserved until the end. On the command of his master, Bodin slipped quietly out of the hall to fetch them. Aubrey Maminot banged the table for quiet before turning to Ralph.

  “You were not the only ones to be troubled by intruders in the night,”

  he said. “We, too, had unwanted guests.”

  “When?” asked Ralph.

  “A few days ago. Two men scaled the castle walls. Fortunately, my guards were more alert than yours.”

  “You captured the intruders?”

  “One of them escaped, the other was dealt with in the way that he deserved.”

  “And what was that?”

  “He was eaten alive.”

  The guests reacted with horror. Herleve turned away.

  Aubrey beamed. “No man could sneak past my pets.”

  “Pets?” echoed Gervase.

  “Yes. It is time for you to meet them.”

  A sweep of his arm directed their gaze to the end of the room, where the huge oak door suddenly swung back on its hinges. There was a gasp of fear from the guests. Some of the women screamed and even the bravest of the men felt a shiver of apprehension. Ludovico brought them in. Straining on their leashes, two full-grown lions bared their fangs and ripped at the air with their claws, emitting such terrifying roars that the whole room reverberated.

  Golde clung to Ralph’s arm in trepidation but he was more fascinated than afraid. While others shrank back from the roaring animals, he noticed how great a control Ludovico had over them. The keeper of the beasts was not just exhibiting his charges, he was jerking on their chains alternately to prompt their snarls. When Ludovico used his strength to turn their fearsome heads towards him, he grinned at the lions and shouted something in Italian.

  The roars stopped immediately. Instead of threatening with their claws, they lay on the floor and rolled over on their backs like a pair of playful kittens. Ludovico let
go of their leashes and crouched down to stroke them. Aubrey skipped down the hall to join him.

  “I had them as cubs,” he explained. “When I journeyed to Rome, they were a gift to me from a friend. That is why I called them Romulus and Remus. The founders of the Eternal City grew up with wolves but I prefer to consort with lions.”

  To the amazement of his guests, Aubrey Maminot sat on the floor between the lions and put an arm around each of their necks. After rolling their heads and emitting a token snarl, they closed their eyes and purred with contentment.

  “My pride and joy,” said Aubrey. “The lions of York!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Their first full day in York was largely taken up with administrative duties. The list of cases to be examined was dauntingly long and the commissioners faced the prospect of endless sessions in the shire hall. Gervase Bret suggested a means of speeding up legal process without significant threat to justice. Since many of the cases involved relatively small amounts of land, contested in each instance by only two claimants, he argued that they could be resolved summarily. If, therefore, the commissioners divided into two separate groups, one could deal with these minor disputes and leave the other free to handle the more complex cases.

  Ralph Delchard was entirely in favour of the plan. He had, in fact, been primed by Gervase days in advance but he pretended to be hearing the notion for the first time and he banged an imperious fist on the table in the shire hall.

  “An excellent idea!” he announced. “We’ll act on it.”

  “Yes,” agreed Tanchelm of Ghent. “It will spread the load and save us all a great deal of time.”

  Canon Hubert wagged a finger. “Not so fast, my lords. We must not make such a radical change in our modus operandi without a discussion of the implications.”

  “This is that discussion,” said Ralph. “And it is effectively over.